The corner toy shop has begun slipping a postage-stamp cushion behind every roly-poly doll. Each one greets the floorboards, nods to the shop window, and only then rocks exactly once, as if cheerfulness were a visiting hour.
We asked at the kiosk. "They used to tip without saying hello," said a woman with a paper bag of pretzels. "Now the glass gets a nod first, and the whole shelf looks less in a hurry."
A neighbor rumor claimed the pillows were for naps. The shop notebook is kinder: one small cushion is enough if the painted smile has already wished the floor a good morning.
The next afternoon a wooden horse from the next pane leaned over and copied the nod, just in case the boards were still waking up. The dolls rocked only after that, and the window warmed a little, as if it had been included in the greeting.